Flying Lessons
by WrenWinterSong
Summary: Everyone knows how much Ron Weasley dispises Cormac McLaggen, but when exactly did it all start? Written for Round 13 of the QLFC Season 4 - Score: 9/10.


**Author's Note:** This fic is written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Round 13. I am Beater 2 for the Falmouth Falcons, and my main prompt was: Relationship - Enemies - Write about two characters (pairing is your choice) that genuinely don't like each other; there must be no underlying romantic feelings; they must actually hate each other. I chose Cormac and Ron (and slightly Hermione) because nobody hates each other more. My optional prompts are: (setting) Hogwarts library and (word) lamp. Word count: 2281

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The first week of school hadn't even ended yet, but already, Ron wanted nothing more than for summer to come again. Sure, spending all those months in Grimmauld Place wasn't exactly cheerful, but neither was Hogwarts these days with Professor Umbridge around. Even being a prefect and on the Quidditch team had turned out to be curses in disguise. He'd never experienced a more anxiety-inducing week.

Then, on top of practices and patrols, there was the pile of homework that he couldn't even ask Hermione for help with. She'd been unwilling before, but now that he'd been a right prat towards her for asking about his first lousy Quidditch practice, she'd probably only give him a lecture or a cold shoulder.

Luckily, Harry was still far enough on her good side to venture down from their dorm to the common room to ask her about a Transfiguration Law that was nowhere in their textbook. Ron gazed down at the list of questions they had to answer for Professor McGonagall, not reading any of them. When Harry came back through the door, Ron jumped and placed his quill to parchment, ready to write fast while Hermione's answer was still fresh in Harry's mind.

"Apparently, we learned it last year," Harry said, stalking towards his own roll of parchment, "so it'll be in last year's book."

Ron sighed and scratched out the 'l' he had written next to the question. "How the hell are we supposed to know something we learned last year?"

"Guess we were meant to actually remember." Harry shrugged and gathered his things into his bag. "Hermione said the book is in the library."

"We can just borrow Ginny's."

"She's not in the common room, and I doubt we'll convince Hermione to steal it for us," Harry said and hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. Ron cursed under his breath before getting up from his bed and doing the same.

It didn't take long to find an empty table since everyone else at Hogwarts was outside enjoying the warm weather instead of drowning under a mountain of essays. Madam Pince handed them the fourth-year Transfiguration book as soon as they went to the front desk; apparently, they were at the end of a rather long line of fifth-years looking for it. The two boys settled into the uncomfortable wooden seats and vowed to finish off this one review question and head back to the common room as quick as possible. An hour later they still had not moved. After spending over twenty minutes searching the book for the first question, they had skipped it to focus on the rest of the questions—which had answers that could actually be found in _their_ textbook—and refused to go back until they reached the end of the list.

They had finally re-opened the dreaded fourth-year textbook when a commotion started up on the other side of the bookshelf to their right. "What do you mean you've already got a Keeper?"

Ron and Harry exchanged a confused look, neither of them recognising the voice, but their eyes went wide when they heard Angelina reply, "Some people decided to actually show up to tryouts."

"I was in the hospital wing!"

"Everyone else managed not to swallow any Doxy eggs that day."

"I can do better than whatever wanker you put on that team. I'll track him down in the common room and be on the pitch in an hour—"

"It's not happening, McLaggen. You missed tryouts and Weasley made the team. End of discussion."

McLaggen—who Ron vaguely remembered as a burly sixth-year who often boasted about his Quidditch skills—scoffed. "Weasley? Should I even ask which one? I could out-keep either of them, both of them!"

"I'm sure. With a head that big, you could block all three hoops at once." Angelina's feet tapped against the floor, and Ron spotted her storming out of the library a moment later. As she swung her overstuffed school bag onto her shoulder, it swerved over the front desk and knocked a lamp to the floor on the other side. Even with Madam Pince squawking like a disgruntled pigeon, Angelina kept walking until she was out of sight.

"At least she won't be mad at me for missing tryouts now that she's got someone else to be pissed at," Harry said, watching Madam Pince mumble to herself as she cleaned up Angelina's mess.

Ron nodded, tapping his quill against the Transfiguration book. He attempted to return his attention to the impossible question, but now his mind was back on Quidditch. If whoever this McLaggen bloke was had shown up to tryouts, there was no doubt he would've bested Ron. He didn't even know how he got the position over Frobisher and Hooper, but McLaggen had a deep and stubborn voice that reminded him of Charlie. Ron could never best someone like that.

"Maybe I should tell Angelina to give McLaggen a go."

"What?" Harry said. "Why would you do that?"

Ron shrugged. "Maybe he's better. It's not a hard thing to do. He could be what's best for the team."

"He sounds like an arrogant toerag to me," Harry said. "Probably best he landed himself in the Hospital Wing before tryouts."

"Yeah." Ron slumped in his seat and set down his quill, not even pretending to be useful anymore. Besides, Hermione would give in and help them out eventually, right?

Then, like an angel answering a prayer, Hermione walked through the doorway and glanced around the library. Ron waved her over, but as she saw him, a hulking boy strode towards her and knocked into her on his way out. Her knitting bag hit the floor, balls of yarn and lumpy hats tumbling out.

"You should watch where you're walking," they both said at the same time. Hermione had on her strict prefect face while the blond bloke turned around with red cheeks that paled back to normal almost instantly. McLaggen—Ron realised, recognising the voice from earlier—put on a smile that reminded Ron of Gilderoy Lockhart, and he felt his face grow as red as McLaggen's had been.

"Ah, so sorry," he said, leering down at Hermione as she knelt down to gather her things. He slid out his wand and summoned back the ball of yarn that had rolled farthest away. He handed it to Hermione after she stood again. "I didn't see you coming through, though I don't know how I could have missed you."

"It is a wonder," Hermione said, not even making eye contact as she took the ball of yarn and stuffed it into her bag. Something triumphant erupted in Ron's chest. "If you'll excuse me."

Hermione stepped around him, but McLaggen moved in front of her again. "You're a Gryffindor, right?"

She fixed him with a hard glare. "I am. Now if you don't mind—"

Before she could even get out another word, he held out a hand in a professional manner. "Cormac McLaggen, sixth year."

"Yes, I'm aware," Hermione said, her voice even terser than before. Ron didn't know if her voice could get any more menacing. "I have friends I need to speak to." She finally managed to pass McLaggen and marched towards Ron and Harry's table with an irritated frown.

She dropped her knitting bag on the table, but just as she opened her mouth to either greet or lecture the two boys, McLaggen appeared behind her shoulder, eyes on Ron. "Oi, you're the Weasley that's temporary Keeper, aren't you?"

Ron's stomach dropped through the floor, preventing him from doing anything but gape like a fish. Meanwhile, Hermione scrunched her eyes closed and sucked in a breath. "He's not the _temporary_ Keeper of anything. He _is_ the Keeper for the House team," she said through clenched teeth.

"Not after tonight he won't be," McLaggen said with a smug smile, then pointed at Ron. "You're to be at the Quidditch pitch in an hour for a one-on-one tryout."

"What're you on about?" Ron asked. "Angelina didn't agree to that."

McLaggen's confidence faded for a second before roaring again in anger. "You been eavesdropping on my conversations, Weasley?"

He took a confrontational step forward, which Ron reacted to by standing from his seat and meeting the sixth-year halfway. "You were right behind that bloody bookshelf," he said, pointing towards the bookshelf that he and Harry had heard McLaggen and Angelina talking behind. "It was rather hard to ignore."

"You must have a Snitch stuck in your ear then. Johnson wants both of us on the field in an hour."

"I think you're the one who needs their ears checked," Harry said, standing next to Ron. "Angelina made Ron Keeper, and she's not replacing him for your ego."

McLaggen scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Fine, don't go. Wouldn't matter if you did. I'd make the team no matter if you're there or not. If you don't show, it'll save me the effort of catching your Quaffles."

Ron's boiling anger simmered away. It didn't matter that McLaggen was delusional; he was right. If Angelina _had_ agreed to this second, one-on-one tryout, Ron wouldn't have a chance against the bulky sixth-year. Fred and George loved to point out that he had the lean build of a Chaser but lacked the flying skill to venture more than a meter away from the goalposts. McLaggen had the length to reach tough shots like Ron did, but he also had more weight and strength that would help him block a powerful, fast shot that could knock Ron from his broom.

As his self-consciousness dulled his anger, jealousy took hold and aimed it's hatred straight at McLaggen. "Too bad they don't let nutters on the team. If anyone sees you down there playing Quidditch with your imaginary friends, they'll send you off to Maniae's Madhouse."

Hermione gave him a concerned look, but he'd explain later that Maniae's Madhouse was actually called Madam Maniae's House for the Mentally Ill, though he doubted she'd approve of the crude nickname. McLaggen obviously wasn't a Muggle-born and understood the reference. His face went as red as a Quaffle, and he poked Ron in the chest with enough force to cause him to stumble back a step. "You want to settle this on the field?"

Ron opened his mouth to agree when Hermione stepped between them and shot Ron a disapproving glare. "You aren't going anywhere after dark. You're a prefect." Then she turned her rage on McLaggen. "And I should take points from you for even suggesting going on the grounds this late."

McLaggen raised an eyebrow at Hermione. With a handsome mug like his, Ron doubted he was used to being yelled at by a girl. McLaggen seemed to be contemplating how much he could get away with, then put on a charming smile that made Ron want to punch him even more. "I'd never suggest breaking the rules," he said in his slimy voice. "The field is free all day tomorrow."

Before Ron could even think of accepting the challenge, Hermione gave him a hard stare that shut him up. "You've got homework that you've been avoiding all week." She turned back to McLaggen and said, "And I'm sure you've got better things to do than make a fool of yourself. Ron's a fantastic flyer. You would never beat him."

Ron felt a blush in his cheeks and a flutter in his stomach, which were far from the manliest things that could have happened at that moment.

McLaggen chuckled. "Shows how much you know about Quidditch. If you saw a real Keeper in action, you'd come over to my side. I could give you a lesson sometime." His sleazy voice sparked something in Ron's chest that he hadn't felt since the Yule Ball. He was on the verge of taking up McLaggen's challenge no matter what Hermione said.

"I've got two best friends who are more than capable flyers," Hermione said, standing her ground as McLaggen leant ever nearer. "If I wanted flying lessons, I'd ask them."

"And we'd probably make better teachers, too," Ron said, finally stepping forward to stand next to Hermione so he didn't feel like a child cowering behind his mother. "We at least haven't got our heads up our arses."

For a moment, Ron tensed and prepared for McLaggen's large fist to slam into his cheek, but then Madam Pince saved the day with her scolding and squawking and chased all four of them out of the library. McLaggen escaped first while Ron and Harry were grabbing their books and parchment as fast as they could, and he was long gone by the time they got to the corridor.

"Brilliant," Ron grumbled, shoving his things into his bags. "We're never going to find the answer to that question at this rate."

Hermione snatched the list from Harry's hand. "Have the two of you really not answered that question?"

"We answered all the others," Ron said, pointing out the rest of the answered questions. Hermione simply gave him a withering look.

Harry took back his parchment and folded it into his bag. "We can come back to the library tomorrow," he said, walking down the corridor towards Gryffindor Tower.

"Can't you give us this one answer, Hermione?" Ron asked, giving her the best pleading look he could muster. "Just this once?"

Hermione pursed her lips. "No."

Ron frowned, then lit up into a grin to which Hermione gave a wary look. "What about in exchange for a flying lesson?" he asked.

She grimaced and took the paper from his hands. "How about I help you with this one question in exchange that we _never_ discuss flying lessons again?"

"Deal."


End file.
